All My Children
by Flatfin
Summary: Formerly 'The Effing Fours' You can choose your friends, but you sure as hell cannot choose your family... Inspired by Agnes Nixon's words: 'The Great and the Least, the Rich and the Poor, the Weak and the Strong, in Sickness and in Health, in Joy and Sorrow, in Tragedy and Triumph, you are ALL MY CHILDREN'
1. The Fucking Fours

**Title:** The F****** Fours

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own The Royals, I'm only borrowing!

 **Rating:** M for language (for now!) The rating on the site is T only to make it show up in the bloody search!

 **Author's Note:** I have got no clue what the hell this is. I _think_ it's where I intend to end up once I've figured out what in the hell I would like to see happen between Jasper and Eleanor.

Please be kind in the reviews, it's been years since I've written any proper attempt at fanfic. Constructive criticism is of course welcomed. Other than that, I do hope you enjoy. Happy to answer any questions you might have.

You will note that I've referred to a couple of pieces from the Crown Jewels. If you're interested you can google them.

Ave x

* * *

The call from the palace comes shortly before 11am. They are on a flight half an hour later and pull into the Palace grounds shortly before 1pm.

"Seriously, what the _fuck_ Eleanor?"

"What to do you mean, _what the fuck_?" she mimics, "Why is this my fault all of a sudden?"

"Oh I don't fucking know, maybe because the pyromaniac genes come from _your_ side of the family, not mine."

"Well Jasper, if we're going to start throwing insults, let's not ignore the fact _nobody_ seems to know much of _anything_ about your side of the family now, do we? Maybe your great great Grandmother started the San Francisco fire of 1906! But I'll tell you what I do know shall I? I bloody well know that the sticky fingers come from you, _asshole_."

Jasper grips the steering wheel tightly as he screeches to a halt outside the Palace entrance, earning a particularly displeased scowl from the woman sitting next to him.

"The San Francisco fire happened after an earthquake, so unless my ability to make the earth move for you is genetic _baby_ , I'll just go ahead and call bullshit. And you really gotta get over that sticky fingers business, it was over 5 years ago..."

He trails off in an effort to chase after Eleanor who's exited the Range Rover and is a good five steps ahead of him by this point. They enter the palace and continue into the Green Writing Room, only to find a row of footmen blocking the entrance. Jasper finally pulls up just behind Eleanor as the household staff bow and part like the Red Sea, drawing their attention to the opposite end of the room.

"...Besides..." he continues, staring at the reason for their hasty return to London

"...double trouble is definitely a problem that comes from _your_ side of the family."

"Jasper, if you wish to remain in the title of Grand Old _bloody_ Duke of York and continue to enjoy the privileges it bestows upon you within the privacy of the Royal bedroom, you would do well at this point to simply shut the fuck up and help me deal with our demented offspring."

The last part comes out as more of a hiss that he inwardly tenses at. Outwardly, he grumbles slightly and moves past her towards their little monsters.

"And be strong," she adds as somewhat of a caring afterthought, "they can smell fear, you know."

Jasper turns back, and fires an awkward yet distinctly annoyed look in Eleanor's direction before turning back to the problem at hand.

"Right, you two!" he bellows and the giggling mess of hair and crumpled clothing turns to the source of the noise.

"Daddy! You came back!"

Every now and then, when they both look towards him at the same time and utter the exact same phrase, he gets a chill down his spine and an image of Jack Nicholson fleetingly presents itself in his head. But then they both start grinning like the sweetest little angels and he struggles to remember why the hell he is so goddamned pissed off with his children's disobedient behaviour.

They make a beeline towards him from the opposite end of the room and he gets halfway down to removing the hysterically laughing children from grabbing his legs when he smells the distinct aroma of burnt hair.

He notices a large chunk of Charlotte's blond curls that was missing.

They didn't mention this fact on the urgent phone call this morning to Eleanor, no doubt figuring the message about a minor fire at the palace being sufficient enough to secure the return of the Princess.

In an effort to maintain his composure, instead of losing his shit altogether, he straightens up and opts to simply shake the twins off his leg in the direction of their mother. Thomas takes the hint and goes straight towards Eleanor, but Charlotte holds on to her father for dear life.

"Look Mummy, I found something pretty for you!" Thomas proudly declares before pulling out a brooch from the pocket of his trousers. The brooch looks distinctly like Queen Victoria's Bows, much to the horror of Eleanor who quickly grabs it and fires a rather frosty I told you so look in the direction of the child's father.

"Thomas! This does not belong to you, it belongs to the people of Great Britain - you cannot simply go around taking things that you want."

The boy looks a bit sheepish, but certainly not contrite.

"Well, I guess I should probably give these back too then," he mutters like it is a complete disappointment to him that his mother is anything less than bowled over at his efforts to give her something sparkly. He puts his hands into his pockets and pulls out another brooch (the Canadian Maple Leaf this time) and a pair of drop diamond earrings that she knows belong to her mother.

"See Tommy," Charlotte pipes up, who by this point has managed to climb her way into her father's arms and effectively attached herself to his neck, "I _told_ you that it was a bad idea to take the diamonds, you should have taken the pearl necklaces instead, Daddy said Mummy likes those."

Eleanor hears the distinct sound of at least two footmen trying to hide their immature laughter with a poorly concealed cough. She glares at them instead of firing yet another icy glare towards Jasper for his irresponsible language around tiny ears. Bloody pearl necklaces, she only let him do that to her once.

"No Charlotte, your brother should not take anything that does not belong to him. If he wishes to have something he must always ask. Isn't that right, Jasper?"

He sighs and doesn't bother to turn around, to acknowledge the new voice that had entered the room. He knows that etiquette dictates something about never having his back turned to the Queen, even if she is only the dowager. That being said, he has already ploughed his field this morning and there were no more fucks to give.

"Indeed, your Majesty..." is almost as much as he can muster, but continues regardless in an effort to take the heat off his sticky fingered son, "...however I'm much more interested at this point, as to why my daughter is missing the hair from nearly the entire left side of her head."

"She's _what_?!" Eleanor screeches, as Charlotte turns around in her father's arms, beaming with a smile going from ear to ear, to proudly lift the top section of her hair and display her newly shorn hairdo.

"Look Mummy, Uncle Robbie said I look just like Miley Cyrus now. He used his hair trimmers to get rid of the burnt hair after I used Grandma's hair curly thing."

Eleanor is seething at this point and Jasper simply keeps stroking his daughter's head in marginal despair at the entire clusterfuck.

"Would somebody please tell me what the bloody hell happened! Is it too much to ask that I have one child-free weekend without all hell breaking loose? You were supposed to be watching them mother, you above everyone else should know how to take care of twins!"

Helena, who at least has the good grace to look mildly penitent, ushers them to sit down. Jasper and Eleanor reluctantly do so, allowing their son and daughter to return to their colouring in books that had been somewhat occupying them prior to their parents' arrival.

"I may have given birth to twins Eleanor, but you and I both know that I was not the most hands on of mothers."

"You can say that again…" Eleanor mutters, turning her head to make sure the twins were not causing any more destruction in their wake.

"Well, aside from burning a hole in my beautiful Afghan rug by leaving my hair tongs lying on the floor in my closet, the resulting fire nearly ruined my entire Tom Ford collection. Thankfully Rachel is just as useful with a fire extinguisher as she is with a whip."

Helena can see the anger building in her daughter's face. Jasper's face remains impassive as ever, but his eyes indicate exactly how annoyed he is so she cuts to the chase.

"They slept in my room last night and when they woke up at the crack of dawn, Charlotte wanted curls like her Mother, or maybe it was Thomas wanting to pretend to be Vidal bloody Sasoon, I don't know, but her hair was burned until it was black and frizzy. I was woken up by Thomas squealing like a banshee when the rug caught fire. We really had no other choice but to cut Charlotte's hair. The stubborn little thing, whom might I add takes after her mother, refused to let me have my stylist fix it, so your brother offered to help. And as for your little jewel thief over there, he had open access to my jewellery box in the closet. I presume _genetics_ did the rest."

Jasper growls and bites his lip before he says anything he will regret, whilst Eleanor simply looks perplexed.

"Apart from the complete lack of child proofing or common sense which could have prevented any of this, can I just remind you, _Mother_ , that you never once let Liam nor I sleep in your room when we were their age."

"Oh Eleanor don't pout, it's completely unbecoming."

Charlotte sniggers in the background and pinches her brother, "see, I _told_ you not to pull a pouty face in the selfie with Uncle Robbie this morning. Daddy, Uncle Robbie took our picture when he was cutting my hair."

"Did he now?" he replies, trying to seem like he is interested in how Eleanor's beloved brother had butchered the beautiful blond hair of his baby girl. Jasper pinches the bridge of his nose and mumbles to Eleanor, "please can we just take the kids and go. I'll schedule an appointment to come back and punch the King another time."

Eleanor eventually agrees with a final, scornful look towards her Mother.

" _Fine_ , let's just go home."

Jasper approaches one of the footman who is holding out both Prince Thomas and Princess Charlotte's coats. He takes the garments and beckons both of his children to him and proceeded to dress them. He decides to put Thomas' coat on his daughter as, in the absence of a hat, it at least had a hood. Thomas squeals and tries to run towards his Mother, fearing the very pink looking parka that was heading in his direction. Jasper, however, lunges and manages to pull his son back towards him just in time.

"Hold it there, buddy. You and I are going to have a little chat when we get home about testing the limits of your diplomatic immunity, but in the meantime, if you're going to act like the Pink Panther, you can damn well look like one."

"Jasper, the bloody paps will be outside, we can't take them out there dressed like that!"

"Untwist your knickers _Princess_ , they're twins and with our daughter's current hair do, I'd be highly impressed if the papers could actually tell them apart."

Out of the corner of his eye, Jasper spots a movement behind one of the doors in the room and although he can't see the person, he damn well knows who it is. As he ushers both of his kids towards the exit and their car, he pauses and calls back into the room.

"I'll just take this time to remind you, your Majesty, that you just gave an under-cut to the child who is fourth in line to the _Throne_ of Great Britain. I'll be seeing _you_ later."

And with that the Henstridge-Frost's leave in a whirlwind of activity, both twins waving enthusiastically over the shoulders of their respective parents to their Grandmother and the rest of the household staff who line the exit.

As she buckles her children into the car and settles into the passenger seat herself, Eleanor debates whether or not to actually tell her Husband the news she had wanted to share with him on their supposed dirty weekend away to Paris which had, frustratingly, been cancelled short.

She watches as Jasper buckles himself into the driver seat and with one final look in the rear view mirror to check that both his children are strapped in and not in fact hanging out of the windows, he puts the car into gear and leaves to make their way across London to Kensington. Jasper turns towards her as they exit the Palace grounds and she meets his glare.

"I wasn't kidding, I'm going to punch the _shitting_ King of England for cutting my baby girl's hair."

It is at this point that Eleanor decides it is perhaps not the best time to tell her husband about baby number three, due in just over seven months. The terrible twos with the twins had been awful, the fucking fours as they have taken to calling it, are mildly soul-destroying. Adding another screaming child into the mix is probably going to require dropping that bomb when her Husband is both three sheets to the wind and pinned between her legs.

Sadly, it probably isn't news she can keep to herself until Charlotte's hair fully regrows.


	2. Emerald Green Box

**Title:** The Fucking Fours

 **Chapter:** Emerald Green Box

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own The Royals, I'm only borrowing!

 **Rating:** M. The rating on the site is T only to make it show up in the bloody search!

 **Author's Note:** I cannot believe the response to this story. It's absolutely blown me away.

I should probably outline what my plans are. Basically this is going to be a collection of one-shots but the story progression should still be fairly obvious. I simply describe it as a collection as the chapters will jump around a bit, as you will see from this one as it is a bit of a flashback. I hope to explore the life of the Henstridge-Frosts from conception until early adulthood.

This story ties in with my other story _When We're In The Dark_ which is a prequel and takes place about 8 - 10 weeks before this story. I hope both can be stand alone stories but anything that you're not clear about just ask.

I'm also going to rename the story itself but until I come up with a great name (all suggestions welcomed) I'll leave it as it is.

In that sense, MissyK who I couldn't reply to, nobody else has had children, the line of succession remains Liam, Eleanor, Thomas then Charlotte - Thomas was born first so he is third in line after Eleanor and Charlotte is fourth, hence Robbie giving the fourth in line to the thrown a hair cut! Hope that clears things up.

Point to note, James is still Eleanor's security in this. He just is ok, Jasper is off doing body-guarding things for someone else... ;) Not the Queen though, I promise!

In the meantime, enjoy! I hope things will pick up next chapter as this is quite tame I think! Your reviews are always welcome.

Ave x

* * *

She's been sick for the last five days.

He steers clear of her during this time, mostly. He narrowly avoids what looks like an expensive vase only that morning and thinks " _fuck this shit_ " before leaving and resolving not to go back until she texts him with something other than sarcastic _woe is me_ drivel.

It's not as though he's never experienced this side of Eleanor before. She doesn't seem to look any worse than a particularly bad hangover. Still, in recent weeks he thought she was over taking her life to extremes and although he hasn't asked her to (and _won't_ ever ask her to), she's curbed the harder drugs and drink.

Their relationship is back on track, not to mention that the circus that is the royal family finally appears to have settled down, so Jasper isn't going anywhere.

He's had nearly 8 perfect weeks of a happy Eleanor, not to mention the regular sex, so he's not entirely sure what to make of this recent odd behaviour.

It isn't until he decides to bite the bullet and confront her about her behaviour that he realises just how far up shit creek he probably is.

He comes around the corner on his lunch break and sees James Hill leaving Eleanor's room, muttering something about her being a "crazy, pre-menstrual bitch" which is entirely unlike the normally loyal and well-spoken bodyguard.

Jasper thinks James might actually be right, until he starts to do the math, trying to think back to when he last saw Eleanor like this and he starts to think about the worst of all the scenarios.

"I don't think you're sick," he announces as opens and closes the door to her room. He's not exactly thinking straight but decides he might as well rip that band aid right off and hangs back to wait for the missile to be thrown at him, physical or verbal.

"What? Oh just get the fuck out of my room Jasper."

Verbal then, he notes as she tosses the covers off her bed to sit up. She looks weary, and pale.

His stomach clenches.

"Have you considered the possibility that you might be pregnant?"

She turns to him and looks like she's going to explode in furious anger at him suggesting something so ridiculous. Yet he sees the exact moment that she realises he has a point and she too starts doing the math in her head. He is not the most patient so decides to help her out.

"You haven't had your period since just after the King's Cup. I should know, you're always disgustingly horny and into all that kinky shit when the painters are in."

" _Jasper_ , the vulgar manner in which you are referring to my menstrual cycle is both entirely inappropriate and downright slanderous so I will not be held responsible for what I do next if you do not just _fucking_ _leave_!"

He moves towards the bed and takes the risk of sitting down beside her.

"Eleanor, don't shut me out..."

"Can you just…" she pauses to wipe a tear from her face, and he feels like shit for bringing it up "...just, leave me alone for a little while? Please?"

He swallows the argument that rises in his throat and nods his acceptance of her request.

"Of course."

And with that he leaves the room but doesn't go far from the door before crumpling into a heap against the wall.

He takes his head in his hands and tries not to cry. Or punch a hole in the wall.

He's a smart guy. He knows what this _might_ mean - for Eleanor, for the Monarchy, for the Country. He knows this is his chance to prove to anyone, _everyone_ , but mostly himself, that he is _not_ his pathetic excuse for a father.

Five minutes after he slumps to the floor, Doctor Cohen, recently returned from exile in Malta, makes his way into Eleanor's room, largely ignoring him. It takes a further 30 minutes before there is any further movement from the room, and Doctor Cohen exits, this time acknowledging his presence and gesturing for him to enter.

He finds Eleanor sat on the edge of the bed, one arm positioned protectively over her stomach.

It's all the confirmation he needs.

"Eleanor…" he mumbles, wishing that it didn't feel like someone had just swept the rug from under his feet. He's twenty six years old, he should be capable of adulting better than this.

She turns towards him and smiles apologetically.

"I'm sorry for being so awful towards you."

He shrugs and moves to sit beside her, taking her hands, "I'm guessing it's just hormones."

She manages a wry smile and he will take anything right now for comfort. His heart is beating ten to the dozen.

"Do you know what this means?" she asks, and suddenly he realises that _she_ isn't scared about having a baby, she's scared of what it means for her as a _Royal_ , for them both. By the way she grips on to his hand he just knows that although she rescinded that particular request nearly two months ago, she's scared he's going to _leave_ _her_. He might be shitting his pants right now but he _needs_ her to know that he's in it for the long haul.

"I know what it means Eleanor, what it means for _you_ , for _me_..."

"How can you _possibly_ understand the gravity of what needs to happen now?" she interjects.

He twists around and leans back over the bed, reaching towards the bedside table that she had permitted he make his own. He reaches into the drawer, and produces an emerald green box that he grips tightly, unsure about just exactly what to do with it, "I understand what has to happen because I've been thinking about it long before now, I just hadn't figured out all the details yet."

She stares at the box and doesn't move.

"Eleanor, you once said to me that there was a girl in this very room who had always felt unloved and unworthy of being loved. I've not done much to show that I'm worthy of you loving me, but I promise you that you are loved, that _I_ love you, and you are more than worthy being loved. I want you to _let_ yourself feel that."

He opens the box and can see that she's slightly taken aback by the ring that is held inside. It isn't anything like the flashy diamonds that grace her mother's hands. It is vintage, art deco and set with emeralds and diamonds. In terms of royal jewellery, it is completely understated and he feels the need to explain.

"There are two things that I inherited from my family Eleanor - my father's ability to count cards and my Great-Great Grandmother's engagement ring. The first of those earned me a few thousand dollars and a couple of black eyes. The latter is the only connection I have left to the Jasper Frost that left the States over a year ago."

"It's beautiful," she manages, and he senses that she's going to roll with this, see where it goes.

"True to form and in contrast to our humble and dishonest beginnings, the Frosts have good, expensive tastes. Heard she conned it out of some rinky-dink English Lord that made it over to the States on the Titanic, probably one of those assholes that bought his way off the ship at the expense of the women and children, but what do I know."

She smirks a little, because really, to her, it was just another of Jasper's stories. He knows it to be true, but maybe it's better that she wonders.

"I've had this ring in that drawer since the day after you let me stay. So please, don't think this is because..." he pauses to fully acknowledge what he is about to say, "...you're having _my_ _baby_. It's because I've known that I love you for a very long time. So please, get out of this room, with me and put this ring on your finger."

She leans her head to the side and looks up toward him with what he can only think is affection. It's maybe the first time in days that he's felt back on kilter with her.

"Marry me Eleanor."

She stays silent and he thinks it feels like an eternity before she eventually stirs out of her own thoughts.

"I must be completely mad…" she whispers as she holds out her left hand in front of him.

He grins, taking her slender fingers and plays with them in his own, "is that a _yes_ then?"

"Yes, _bodyguard_ , I will marry you."

He pushes the ring onto her fourth finger and she looks fondly at it before smiling brightly towards him.

"I do love you, Jasper from Las Vegas."

It's not the first time she's said it, but it's not something she has thrown about liberally in recent weeks.

He pulls her into him, and kisses her feverishly, desperate to show just how happy she's made him. They fall backward onto the bed, hands wandering until his find their way to rest on her stomach, unable to feel any difference just yet. Still, he rubs it gently, knowing that _he_ put life in there.

"Your mother is going to kill me, you do know that?"

"Perhaps, but she might not even notice - she might be too distracted with her plans to oust my Uncle now that my brother has recently returned from the bloody dead."

"I think you marrying an un-titled American grifter and having a baby out of wedlock is not something that's going to bypass her radar Eleanor. We need a plan."

He focuses his hands now on moving her hair away from her neck and begins to lay soft kisses against her that have the desired effect as she curls into him and kisses him back, taking his other hand and placing it on her hip.

"Yes, yes, a plan is good," she tries to catch her breath as he moves along her jaw and suddenly he is very hard, pulling her against him, "but for the first time in five days I am _not_ nauseous so I'd like it very much if you could proceed to just shag me senseless, because these hormones are making me _very_ horny right now."

His hands immediately go to her silk pyjama bottoms, slipping them off with practised ease, "let's see just how _horny_ those hormones can make you."


	3. Holiday

**Title:** All My Family

 **Chapter:** Holiday

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own The Royals, I'm only borrowing!

 **Rating:** M. The rating on the site is T only to make it show up in the bloody search!

 **Author's Note:** Thank you once again for all being so patient, and for reading and reviewing! I can't reply to everyone personally as some folks don't log in to review, so please take this little author's note as my personal thanks, it means so much.

Now, this chapter jumps around in time again so going back to the future! I think each chapter will take turn about, one in the future, the other more dealing with Jasper and Eleanor's preparations for their first child (or as it turned out to be, the twins).

This chapter is inspired by a real life incident that happened to me when I was younger. I went on holiday with my parents and older sister but came back with a little less than I went away with - that's all I'm giving away :)

Oh, and yeah, Jasper and Eleanor now have 4 kids. I have everything in an outline of ages and dates which I might post at some point if there's a call for it but just know that this chapter is set around July 2026. I hope it all makes sense, if not, just ask!

Finally, anyone who can point out the blatant borrowing of a line from one of my favourite british black comedy films (and kind of also an inspiration for this chapter) gets 100 internet points and a cookie.

So without further ado, I present 'Holiday' - I hope you enjoy!

Ave x

* * *

Eleanor sits patiently in the terminal building, hidden away in the VIP lounge waiting for the signal that the Royal jet is prepared and ready for boarding. It can't happen a moment too soon as she gets a fleeting longing for her younger days when she would happily be snorting a line of coke in the airport bathroom instead of nursing a herbal tea to calm her frayed nerves.

She spots Jasper strutting his way along the departure lounge towards her - white t-shirt, leather jacket and Ray-Bans in place.

She curses to whatever Gods there are.

How can he be almost thirty seven years old and still look like he did the moment he thundered back into her life at that bloody polo match with the Argentinians? He's really working the strapping, male model look this morning and it sends a shiver down her spine followed swiftly by a tingling feeling between her legs...but when she looks at the four children running riot at the other end of the room she suddenly remembers that Jasper's good looks and her inability to resist getting him out of his boxers is _exactly_ how she ended up in this mess in the first place.

And no matter how sweet and charming their _last_ mistake turned out to be, Jasper's absolute refusal to get his tubes tied (" _I'm not a fucking pet that needs neutered, Eleanor_ ") always makes her second guess throwing caution to the wind and jumping his bones.

He finally reaches her side and all four of their children come running to pile on top of him, with one stray leg outright kicking her in the shoulder. Eleanor can't figure out who the leg belongs to. There's so many of them at this point.

A member of airport staff approaches and dares to ask her if she is ok.

Looking at Thomas' sunburn, Charlotte's scraped knees, Sophia's constant pulling of her hair to try to make it longer and the box Jamie keeps carting around that she bloody well _knows_ contains some kind of mediterranean lizard that she's already told him he was to let loose, Eleanor can't help but sigh and nod absentmindedly.

"Of course I'm alright," she replies waving the airport attendant away, "isn't it obvious that we've gone on holiday by mistake?"

Jasper eyeballs her over the top of the rabble of children and smirks a little, leaning one arm over to squeeze her on the shoulder.

"You can say that again," he murmurs in agreement.

Jasper is in the kitchen making breakfast while Eleanor lounges on the balcony, soaking up the sun with Jamie curled into her side reading the tales of the _Very Hungry Caterpillar_. He's only three and a half and she has to prompt him a lot, but he's already so capable of reading and understanding texts that Eleanor and Jasper already consider him to be their little genius.

She can feel the sun on her legs and for one perfect moment, Eleanor is at peace and wonders if this is what it feels like for every other seemingly perfect family when they spend quality time together.

"Thomas, I'm not going to tell you again, stop playing with your sister's hair!"

Eleanor sighs. She can't see what is going on inside the villa that caused Jasper to yell, nor does she know which sister he is telling Thomas off for harassing with his amateur hairdressing skills. Charlotte's incident with her Grandmother's curling tongs five years ago is _still_ raw for them both.

"Daddy he's hurting me!"

It's at this point that Eleanor risks looking over her shoulder into the living room. She tenses which sets Jamie on edge, "Shh, it's alright sweetheart, you stay here and read your book."

She moves him off of her and goes inside.

Unbridled chaos is the only way she could describe the scene she comes across.

Charlotte is chasing Thomas, both of them shrieking at an ungodly decibel level, and Jasper has Sophia in his arms clearly trying to console their daughter, "Shh, it's alright baby, Daddy's got you."

Jasper glares at her over the top of Sophia's head and they're so far into parenthood now that she knows exactly what that particular look is trying to convey.

" _You deal with him_."

She is somewhat confused until he turns towards their bedroom and she spots the barrel hairbrush that is stuck to the back of little Sophia's head, wound uncompromisingly into her long dark hair.

"Thomas!" she yells, "What in the _bloody_ _hell_ have you done?!"

Eleanor wonders how in the flying fuck this shit could happen... _again_. The kid is 9 years old, she thought he would have grown out of it by now.

It's not Thomas who comes rushing to her side but Charlotte, pulling at Eleanor's Kaftan, "Mum, he said he was going to make Soph look like you. Remember when he said that to me and Uncle Robbie then made me look like Miley Cyrus?"

She briefly wonders when Charlotte stopped calling her _mummy_ , and turns back to look outside, seeing Jamie still curled up in the deck chair happily pointing away at the pictures in his book to nobody in particular - how she could end up with such a mixed bag of children?

Thomas is entirely fixated on shiney things and apparently, hair styling implements. Charlotte is a complete tattle tale and tomboy to boot. Sophia is every inch the little princess that Helena had always hoped Eleanor would be. And Jamie, their youngest, although smart has an entirely unsavoury fondness for creepy crawlies.

She loved them all, _fiercely_ , but by God did she need this holiday and currently it was feeling more like a trip to Guantanamo that an idyllic Mediterranean hideaway.

"Charlotte how could we forget that bloody monstrosity of a hair style? And stop grassing up your brother. Honestly, you'd never know that you two shared my uterus."

It wasn't a lie. Her twins are nothing like how she and Liam had been when growing up. Charlotte and Thomas could not stand to let the opportunity pass to dob the other in to either parent. Liam and Eleanor, to this day, still had each other's back no matter what.

She'd deal with Thomas later when she's calmer and less likely to say something she'd regret, and instead goes to the bedroom where she finds Jasper trying desperately to remove the hairbrush from Sophia's hair.

"How bad it is?" She asks only to be met with Jasper's frustrated glare.

"How the fuck do you think it is, Eleanor..."

Normally she'd give him hell for swearing in front of their children but she's not quite sure any other words could convey the severity of the situation.

"...I can't get the damn brush out."

She moves to the side of Sophia who, despite looking entirely traumatised by the situation, appears to be taking it like a trooper. She is nothing like her older sister Charlotte who will run around in jeans, climbing trees and taking on anyone who dares to challenge her. Sophia is a somewhat shy little girl who likes to dress up and play with her mother's ridiculously expensive make up. She adores it when Eleanor pins her hair up into braids.

So when Eleanor's youngest daughter finally looks at her with tears threatening to fall, she knows that unlike her older sister, Sophia is not going to be posing for selfies while an adult takes a set of scissors to her hair.

"Come here sweetheart," she urges with arms open wide. Sophia, who is only four years old, climbs onto her mother and Eleanor herself holds back the tears. It's not like the little girl has a gaping wound or severe illness, but no matter the difficulty, when her littlest girl looks at her like her world just ended she can't help the pain that rises in her chest.

Jasper pulls them both into his arms and reassures Sophia that they will fix the situation.

It's at this point that Thomas pokes his head into their bedroom.

"I can call Uncle Robbie if you want, get him to fly over with his clippers?"

Eleanor has to hold Jasper back from chasing their eldest child around their Ibizan villa, wondering why on earth they thought it was such a wonderful idea to go abroad on holiday in the first place.

"Jasper, just go get my handbag. I'll try to get this brush out."

He returns less than a minute later.

"You know Jamie's out there playing with a lizard don't you?"

She looks up from behind Sophia's head with a frown, "why on earth are you letting him play with a damn lizard, Jasper?"

He dumps the bag on their bed, "we already have one upset child, _Eleanor_ , let's put out one fire at a time, hmm?"

Eleanor rolls her eyes and pulls out a large toiletry bag. Much to Sophia's alarm she spots the fringe scissors that her mother has produced from in amongst the makeup and hair ties.

"No, no, no…" she starts to whimper and tries to get away from her seat, "...daddy don't let mummy cut my hair!"

Jasper is quick to drop down to her level and keep her in the chair with a gentle touch on his little girl's shoulders.

"Baby, if we can't get the hairbrush out we're going to have to cut it. But I promise you your hair will grow back. And if it doesn't then I'll consider letting you take Uncle Robbie's clippers to your brother's head."

Jasper looks up to Eleanor and she can't help but smirk at the thought. Was it poor form to hope for some sort of karmic retribution towards your own child?

"Do we have a deal then, little _Princess_?"

Eleanor watches her little girl closely, head dipped avoiding eye contact with her father but nodding her assent (hair brush bobbing about in her hair as she does so).

"Ok," she mutters before adding in a panic, "but I've seen the pictures of Charlotte with short hair - mummy please don't make me look like a boy."

She leans down and gives Sophia a big kiss on the cheek, "No Miley Cyrus undercuts, got it."

All in all, it took Eleanor half an hour to cut the brush out of Sophia's hair and even up the rest, leaving her with a bob cut that Eleanor is somewhat proud of. It would certainly make bath time easier. When the trauma is over Sophia crawls into her father's lap and hangs herself around his neck. He's careful not to let her see the pile of long dark hair that is covering the tile of the bedroom floor lest the tears begin again.

The door to the bedroom creaks open and Thomas stands in the doorway. Eleanor immediately notices the red tinge to his face and knows that it is not shame nor embarrassment of causing his little sister upset, he's simply spent too long in the bloody sun as per usual. She supposes that's her fault for not paying him enough attention whilst dealing with Sophia, but like Jasper said, one fire at a time.

"Thomas your face is like a beetroot. Go get in a cold shower before it gets any worse."

He simply nods and goes towards the bathroom but turns back, "Sorry you're upset Soph, but your hair looks much better like this. I really did you a favour you know."

And with that he runs off. Eleanor wonders when her son started taking lessons in apology giving from the Helena Henstridge School of Etiquette in Blame Shifting.

Jasper holds Sophia close as she starts to whimper again, "I have no idea where we got him Eleanor."

"Him and his twin sister," she agrees.

"They're both little shits."

Jasper and Eleanor lock eyes and look down to the source of the last input to the conversation about the twins.

"Sophia, you do know that is not language for a little girl your age?" Eleanor manages to respond, still in shock at her daughter's outburst.

She's not wrong, but still...she's only four years old.

"I know, but sometimes there's no other way to say it. And I've heard you and daddy say it before."

Again, she's not wrong (they always were terrible at remembering little pitchers have big ears), but Jasper tries the diplomatic approach to avoid any such future outbursts, "just because it might be true, doesn't mean you need to say it out loud baby."

Sophia sighs and releases herself from Jasper's hold, "You always say I'm supposed to be honest and always tell the truth."

Before they have to figure out a way of explaining the concept of tact and appropriate social commentary to their four year old they are all distracted by a loud crash in the lounge and Charlotte yelling.

"Get it away from me Jamie! It's looking at me funny!"

Eleanor peers into the living room to see Charlotte on the floor rubbing her knees, one of which has a large gash on it from apparently running into and falling over the coffee table in her effort to get away from her younger brother's new friend. Jamie is standing beside her holding out a bright green lizard with a tail almost as long as her son's arm.

"It's not an ' _it_ ' Lottie, his name is Cedric and he's my lizard!" he squeals like it was the most obvious thing in the world and _how_ could his sister not know that?

Eleanor knows it's going to be a screaming match when she tells Jamie he is absolutely _not_ taking the reptile back home with him.

Jasper then comes up behind her and wraps his arms around her waist, pressing a kiss to her temple. She instantly feels calmer but still in need of a very large glass of something _red_.

"You know this would never have happened if we'd just gone to Cornwall like James Hill suggested?"

Jasper breathes her in and nods, "that's true, but Cornwall is hardly bikini weather and I rather liked the idea of seeing you running around after our kids with a nice little two piece on. Gets me all hot and flustered."

One of his hands has slipped under her kaftan and grazes her skin under her breast.

"You getting _hot_ and _flustered_ is how we ended up with four kids and apparently a _lizard_ , Jasper."

"I don't remember you complaining at the time. There was some form of _moaning_ , but I don't think it was in displeasure."

"You are insufferable…"

"But you love me anyway, and that's why tonight those kids are going to bed early and you're going to give me my own personal fashion show of all those hot little stringy numbers I know you packed in your suitcase."

She turns in his arms and brings him in for a kiss, but is confused when he pulls back and whispers, "...incoming."

She feels a large weight attach herself to her legs and instantly knows it's Charlotte.

"Mummy, can you put a plaster on my knees?"

Well, at least she's back to using _mummy_.

She sees Jasper smirk before he kisses her temple and again whispers in her ear, "... _later_."

It's both a promise and a delightful threat. Eleanor thinks her holiday might just turn a corner.


End file.
